A Turn Or Two I'll Walk To

Thou Art Most Rich, Being Poor; Most Choice, Forsaken; And Most Lov'd, Despis'd! Thee And Thy Virtues Here I Seize Upon.

The Gray-eyed Morn Smiles On The Frowning Night, Checkering The Eastern Clouds With Streaks Of Light.

Men At Some Time Are Masters Of Their Fates. The Fault, Dear Brutus, Is Not In Our Stars, But In Ourselves, That We Are Underlings.

Ten Kisses Short As One, One Long As Twenty.

To Set A Gloss On Faint Deeds, Hollow Welcomes, Recanting Goodness, Sorry Ere 'tis Shown; But Where There Is True Friendship, There Needs None.